


start it up

by cartoonheart



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2020-06-29 20:03:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19837549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cartoonheart/pseuds/cartoonheart
Summary: Meredith is meant to be at a wedding. Instead, Alex and Jo are nowhere to be found and she's now been left to babysit a drunk and maudlin Andrew DeLuca. This isnothow she thought this day would go.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So... this is my new multi-chapter fic, guys. It's likely to be a long one, so for that reason, my chapters are going to be shorter than my normal output. But hopefully this will mean more regular updates.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

_I just got happy in a world without Cristina and without Derek and I don't want to be alone._

Her sister's words roll through Amelia's mind as she leans against the bar, watching her colleagues circulate. It's a beautiful day for a wedding, if one were to ever happen. They seem to have lost the bride and the groom as well as half of the guests and so there is nothing much for her to do apart from drift into quiet contemplation.

She's thinking a lot about what Meredith has just said to her. Amelia's probably thinking about it a lot because it's easier than thinking about Owen and Leo and Betty, and _whatever the hell is happening there_. She tries not to glance over to where he's standing, all handsome and tall in a beautiful suit, her definitely _ex_ -husband.

Amelia knows what it's like to lose people. She and Meredith have that in common, even if it's something they rarely talk about. And so she understands that Meredith's words are kind of a big deal. Any admission of need is not usually Meredith's style, and so that's why Amelia can't help but take it very seriously. 

She knows that for Meredith, Derek was it. He was the big love, the crazy intense love, and that maybe in her mind nothing out there will ever quite measure up. But the fact that Meredith is willing to try not being alone? That's huge. And Amelia has no desire to see Meredith shut herself away, recline into spinsterhood surrounded by only the memories of her dead husband. She deserves more than that. 

Besides, seriously - look at her. Amelia's got eyes. She can see what a striking figure Meredith is cutting in that killer dress. And Amelia's sure she's not the only one who has noticed, based on the way Helm's eyes seem to follow Meredith around. Even DeLuca, as on-the-way-to-drunk as he is, lets his gaze linger a little too long as Meredith walks by.

The fact is that Meredith is a catch: a stone cold catch, with brains and beauty and all of that good stuff that should make every single man fall to their knees if they knew she was open to possibilities.

She needs a little push, Amelia thinks, as she makes a grab for a canape off a passing tray. She's starving and this wedding doesn't look like it is kicking off any time soon. She sees Owen give her a smile from where he's standing and she tries to ignore the lurch in her stomach. 

Love is a nightmare, she thinks, as she tries to control her heart rate through willpower alone. But it's still exciting and thrilling and she thinks Meredith could do with some of that in her life again. 

They haven't always seen eye to eye on everything over the years, but Amelia wants to help. She wants to see her sister happy and _not alone_. She wants to see her light up again. 

Amelia's just not sure what she can do about it. But she's going to try to figure that out.

\---

Meredith is meant to be at a wedding. Instead, Alex and Jo are nowhere to be found and she's now been left to babysit a drunk and maudlin Andrew DeLuca. This is _not_ how she thought this day would go.

That said, Andrew's a calm drunk. He doesn't resist as she guides him away from the crowds, just accepts her steer placidly. The fire in him from minutes ago appears to have extinguished itself and he seems willing enough to just amble along, her arm tucked in the crook of his elbow. 

Meredith doesn't know him all that well, but that's not to say that she doesn't feel sorry for him. After all, she'd witnessed the fallout first hand: namely days of his curled up figure, broken-hearted on her couch. He'd at least had the dignity to keep his misery silent, apart from the occasional, and very mournful, Italian guitar ballad interrupting her peace. 

Alcohol and misery do not mix. Meredith knows this from experience, although she doesn't begrudge him the outlet. She's hardly in a position to lecture him about not using alcohol to drown all sorrows. That said, what she does know about DeLuca is that he's a passionate guy. He feels deeply, about medicine and especially about love, and this is no exception. Meredith can relate more than most to losing someone you weren't ready to let go of, and so it's for this reason that she's going to help him walk it off, rather than berate him.

She doesn't really have a speech planned. Mostly just a series of vague platitudes that she's sure were rolled out to her once upon a time when she was at her lowest ebb. They hadn't meant much to her then, but she figures that saying something - _anything_ \- at this point, is better than them drifting along in awkward silence.

His tie is askew and half of his shirt has become untucked, but he otherwise feels firm and solid against her arm. He's drunk, sure, but not inappropriately so. He can still walk in a straight line and react to her words, and so Meredith doesn't feel like her attempts at comfort will be a complete waste of time. He's a nice guy. She doesn't want to see him suffer, and she'll try and make him feel better if she can.

"Andrew," she says as she guides him forward, "you're young". Objectively true. "And you have that face!" She probably shouldn't have said that, but there is no denying that it's also true. He glances over at her with curious interest, and Meredith gets an even better look at all his handsome angles. "You're going to fall in love again," she continues in an upbeat manner that she's not quite sure she feels. She's also realising that perhaps the words, coming from her, are somewhat hypocritical. Nevertheless, she powers on: "And you're going to get your heart broken again. And that's life. And it's beautiful. And it's messy. It's a beautiful mess."

They've stopped in the middle of the bridge, and he's turned to look at her. His expression is soft, albeit a little fuzzy around the edges from what she thinks must be the alcohol. Honestly, she doesn't foresee any problems with Andrew DeLuca getting women to fall in love with him. She's surprised there isn't a queue already. Hell, after a few drinks of her own, Meredith is half tempted herself - if only for the way his eyes stare unabashedly into hers. There's a directness, a presentness about him, even in his current state, that both excites and makes her more nervous than it should. 

Meredith pushes the thoughts down, and tries to find something else to say. Anything will do. "You can't cling to what was. You have to look at what might b-"

She doesn't get a chance to finish, because all of a sudden there are strong hands cupping her face, and lips pressed against her own. They're firm and warm, but not insistent, they are just _there_. He tastes like beer, and she finds she doesn't hate it. But Meredith also knows this can't happen. For so so many reasons.

She jerks back. "Andrew!" Her hands are firmly grasping at the broad shoulders of his suit, and Meredith tries not to notice the swell of muscles under the fabric. She hastily draws back. "That's not what I meant," she scolds, swallowing a little more heavily than she should. "This is not a seduction!"

His face goes instantly slack-jawed, and she finally feels his hands slide away from her skin. He looks genuinely upset, afraid to have offended her, and for that reason, she won't haul him over the coals like she might anyone else. She doesn't think he needs that right now.

Meredith ignores the way her lips are tingling, because that isn't relevant at _all_.

\---

 _oh no oh no oh no oh no_.

Andrew's internal monologue is about as incoherent as he is right now. His brain is only now catching up to the monumental error he's just made. He's kissed his boss. Not just any boss. The amazing, the brilliant, award-winning Meredith Grey.

Oh god, what has he done?

He's not sure why he even did it. No, that's not quite true. Sure, some of it is to do with Sam, and the fact that he's sad. Sad at the loss of a future that he had imagined for himself, and sad at the idea that he's alone again. He wants some temporary relief from that. He wants to not feel sad anymore. Sadness plays a part. 

But it isn't everything. Dr. Grey (Meredith? Can he call her Meredith now, given what has just happened?) was being so kind to him. She wasn't belittling him or mocking him about how he felt. It was so unlike Carina, whose patience had very quickly exhausted itself mere days after Sam's departure. Instead, Dr. Grey had taken his arm and led him off, and reassured him that there was still hope, even if it didn't feel like it right now. 

And truthfully, she'd looked so lovely standing there. The blue of her dress made her hair shine, her eyes pop, and in that moment, with her smiling face tilted up to meet his, he had mistaken her kindness and comfort for something else. And his drunken brain had done the rest.

What an _idiot_.

Even through the panic in his mind, Andrew realises the only thing he can do now is make a grovelling apology. He just hopes it's enough - that he hasn't lost his job, that she doesn't now write him off as some bumbling drunken lech, who can't read the basic signals of human interaction. He likes to think he's not that guy, but who is to say anymore? He feels like he's stepped out of his body, and no longer recognises himself.

"Oh god," he moans, the words muffled by the press of his hands against his embarrassed face. He can feel the heat of his skin under his fingertips, knows he must be bright red with shame right now. "I'm so sorry. Am I fired?" He winces, barely able to meet her eyes.

She gives him a strange look, and he can't tell if she's actually contemplating whether or not to fire him, or if it is something else entirely. She looks a lot less perturbed than he thinks she has the right to be, and for that, Andrew can only be grateful.

"No," she answers plainly, after a pause. He's learnt over the years that Meredith Grey is nothing but matter-of-fact. "I'm... flattered."

_Flattered?_

She sounds a little surprised at her response. And if Andrew's honest, it's not the answer he was expecting either, although given what has just happened, he'll take it. But there's something about the _way_ that she says it that piques his curiosity. His slowly sobering brain wants to question it, but before he can even think about whether that's a good idea, a distant shout jars them out of the moment.

Before he knows it, he's _kicking down a door_ , and this is probably one of the weirder half hours of his life. In fact, this morning he hadn't even been sure whether he'd show up at all today, and yet here he is, kicking down doors, and inappropriately making moves on his boss. But now, with all the adrenaline that's pumping through him, he feels more alert than ever. 

Alert enough to the fact that when they are only steps behind Jo and Alex, rushing back to the wedding party, Meredith reaches out and grabs his hand. He knows it's only for practicality. She's wearing some incredibly... flattering shoes, and so she's merely looking to him for support and balance. So the still-slightly-drunk Andrew of his mind tries not to overthink it, tries not to make it awkward or strange. But it's unexpected enough, and it makes him wish that they could have finished their conversation.

_Flattered?_

\---

"You're insane. She'll kill us!" Maggie hisses, as the ferry boat glides across the sound. The Seattle skyline provides a backdrop as picturesque as any postcard. The wedding had finally happened, on a boat of all places. And Maggie would like to be focusing on how nice it was, and how happy the couple were. But instead, she's trying to wrap her head around what on earth Amelia's trying to explain to her. 

"Maybe," Amelia replies, as she eases off her shoes and lets them clatter onto the wooden deck. She wiggles her toes and Maggie watches on in horror. "But not if we do it so that she doesn't _realise_ we're doing it."

Maggie's now very confused. She's had a few drinks, sure, but not _that_ many, right? Either way, she's not convinced any of this is making even basic sense, even by Amelia's standards. "What does that even _mean_?"

Amelia gives her a look. It's a mix of frustration and something else. Probably along the lines of _Maggie, how can you be so dumb for someone so smart?_ Maggie's received that look a whole lot of times in her life, and she can't say she's ever liked it.

"It means, we work in a hospital. There are lots of single and eligible men there. We can just create situations that puts Meredith in their path."

Maggie shakes her head in disbelief. "It sounds so... _sinister_ when you put it like that."

The brunette rolls her eyes. "Look, I told you what she said to me. She doesn't want to be alone, Maggie! But you know what she's like. She's stubborn. She's not just going to put herself out there, start asking out guys and browsing through dating apps." Amelia's hands are waving about wildly, and Maggie's worried one is going to accidentally connect with her face. "So all we're doing is subtly... assisting. We're pulling the strings! We're not doing anything that she doesn't subconsciously want us to do. Don't you want her to be happy and not alone?"

It's Maggie's turn to give Amelia a glare. "Of course, I don't want her to be alone! But I feel like... maybe... this could go horribly wrong."

Amelia stifles a laugh, and nods her head with enthusiasm. "Oh for sure. There are about a billion ways this could go wrong." The thought doesn't seem to perturb her as much as it's starting to perturb Maggie. "But hey, nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?"

Sometimes Maggie wonders whether Amelia's brain tumour is truly gone, and then feels bad for thinking it for about half a second. Amelia is Amelia. She's impetuous and rash, and yet somehow she is one of the bravest people Maggie knows. Besides, she can kind of see the merit in what Amelia's saying. If Meredith truly doesn't want to be alone, then it would be nice to gently... help her on that journey, if they can. 

"Fine," she sighs eventually, wishing she had another glass of wine just to settle the feeling of apprehension that's taken up residence in the pit of her stomach. "So, where do you think we should start?"


	2. Chapter 2

There's a man in her bed. 

There's a living, breathing man in Meredith Grey's bed, and it's been an awfully long time since that had happened. And most importantly, there's a man in her bed who is kissing her like his life depended on it. Like he might die if he doesn't kiss her, like he can't help _but_ kiss her. 

Meredith tries to tell herself that she's not kissing him back in exactly same way. But that would be a lie.

Her mind is so fuzzy that she can't remember the details of the who, the what, the why. For some reason, they don't feel important right now. He's a good kisser - an _excellent_ kisser. His mouth is making her feel things that her body has forgotten, and that's a surprise in itself. It's been a while since she's really just enjoyed _kissing_.

Meredith knows she probably shouldn't be doing this. There are so many reasons why this shouldn't be happening. For starters, she's not this person any more - the girl with a random nameless man in her bed. She doesn't think she can even blame tequila or heartbreak this time. This is just plain irresponsible. 

Something about that thrills her.

No, _no_. She's a responsible adult, the boring and mature part of her brain tells her. This isn't how she should behave. 

With great effort, Meredith pulls herself reluctantly away from his touch. It takes a moment for her eyes to focus on the face in front of her. 

Andrew DeLuca.

DeLuca.

Andrew?

He looks a incredibly calm, like what is happening between them was not only expected, but ultimately inevitable. He also looks immensely pleased, almost smug, like he can't quite believe his luck but is definitely not complaining. The fact that he's looking at her like that is... flattering - oh, there's that word again, the word that had tripped off her tongue so readily before. 

To hell with it. Yes, she's flattered. But that doesn't mean he should be here. There are so, so many reasons as to why this is a bad, potentially disastrous, idea. And Meredith can't even remember bringing him here, can't remember laying him down in her own damn bed, and so she feels it's only appropriate that she clarify the situation right now. 

"DeLuca, wh-what are you doing here?" Her hand reaches out of its own volition, pressing firmly against the bare skin of his chest. He's so _warm_ , so alive under her touch. She can feel the vibration of his heartbeat thrumming through her fingertips. He looks across the pillow at her, eyes bright and sly, like a cat. It's a look that says she must already know what his answer will be.

"Whatever you want, Dr. Grey." His tone is smooth and low, wickedly sinful even. Meredith's never heard him speak like that in all the years she's known him. That might be because she's definitely never known him like this - seemingly naked in her bed, looking at her like she's temptation itself. 

Honestly, he needn't have said anything, because the look in his eyes is enough on its own to make _something_ rise up in her like a wave. Hours ago, this had been the furthest possibility from her mind. Now, in seconds, she's pressed herself back into his embrace, her lips eager to find his again. 

Now that she _knows_ it's him, Meredith can't help but absorb the details that were lost on her before. She traces the swell of his upper arms, usually hidden under his lab coat; notes the strength of his hands as they splay across her back. His current movements are brimming with a confidence that his earlier drunken self had lacked. The man is the same, but everything about this feels different - this time, he's a person to her, rather than a resident, a subordinate, a colleague who exists on the periphery of her life. 

Yes, this is Andrew DeLuca, she thinks, somewhat distantly. Andrew DeLuca is in her bed. And he's simultaneously a creature of desire, as well as one to be desired. This whole thing is throwing her for a loop. A very intense loop. 

She can hear herself making _noises_. And maybe she ought to feel embarrassed, but somehow she isn't. It feels good to be touched by him. He's so focused, so attentive, that she'd be inhuman not to let her toes curl from the sensations that are pulsing through her. The lean pillar of his body is pressed along her own, and it's, it's... 

Suddenly her body seizes in upon itself, convulsing in panic. Her heart stops, restarts again. Her limbs are taut with shock. She's... awake, yes, she's awake... she's okay, she's-

Meredith tries to slow her breathing, but there doesn't feel like quite enough air in the room. It was like she was falling, like the ground was rising up to meet her, and then the mad jolt before impact. There'd been arms around her, she's sure, her mind trying to scramble together something that was all too quickly running from her grasp.

Yes, that's it. She remembers now.

Instinctively she twists her head to the pillow beside her. Empty. 

A dream, it had just been a dream. 

She's not sure whether she's pleased or disappointed, and that indecision worries her. Meredith knows what her answer _should_ be, but she can't quite unpack the fluster of emotions that are slamming together inside of her. Her heart is still racing, but the root cause of that is ambiguous at best. Her legs are tangled in the sheets, and so Meredith takes a moment to unwind herself and lay back. She positions herself so she's flat and still, hands clasped to her chest as if in prayer.

It had felt so _real_. And even now, alone in this large bed, the residual ghost of his hands graze across her shoulders, down her neck. Her skin tingles with the imagined friction. 

_Don't be stupid_ , she scolds herself, trying to settle back further into the pillows and set her mind straight. The man in her dreams wasn't Andrew DeLuca. He was just a man she'd dreamt up that happened to have DeLuca's face. After all, it's... been a while. These types of dreams can happen. And obviously he'd been fresh in her mind given what had happened at the wedding. 

This is definitely nothing to do with Andrew DeLuca, she thinks. He's just an unwilling participant in her subconscious' games; a symbol of all the other things in her life that she's been trying to ignore. 

Besides, one drunken kiss at a wedding - lasting barely a few seconds, if that - doesn't mean she has a sense of the man, and how he would... feel. No, that had been purely her imagination, a result of maybe a few too many wines, and not being touched by a man since... god, Nathan Riggs? She doesn't want to dwell on how long it's been.

Meredith knows she told Amelia she doesn't want to be alone - and there's some truth in that, deep deep down. She doesn't want to be alone forever. But she's also not sure when she'll ever get to the point that she can cross that line and be ready for more. There's an element of trust in that sort of transaction, and she's just not sure if she's capable of that nowadays. Opening up her life has never been easy for her. It takes her time, it always has. And she has people now, a whole village. She wants for very little. 

Meredith tries to settle back to sleep. She only has a few hours before she has to be at the hospital, and she needs all the rest she can get. But Meredith's wary of the fact that even behind her closed eyelids she can see flashes of him - the curve of his neck, the hooded gaze of his eyes staring into hers. But it's not from her dreams this time. These glimpses are from reality, from a drunken kiss that never should have happened. 

_Forget it_ , she thinks. She's sure he will have already.

\---

Andrew can't stop thinking about it. 

He wishes he could. He wishes like hell that he could turn off the part of his brain that insists on reliving his bad decision on a loop. In the cold light of day, it's far harder to ignore. He'd kissed his _boss_ , for god's sake! What was he thinking? 

He clearly hadn't been, and that's entirely the problem. He's been so rash lately, so willing to throw caution to the wind, and now he's finally feeling the consequences. Yesterday, he'd taken the coward's way out. He'd avoided Meredith for the rest of the evening, taking careful pains to be where she and her blue dress were not. In the end, he'd crawled back to Carina's, passing out on her couch, hoping that sleep and sobriety would alleviate his worries. 

He's now been awake for an hour and a half, and he's already two coffees in, but he's made a decision. Andrew knows he needs to apologise again. Because he's a decent person, despite his recent behaviour. He realises that his mumbled attempts at atonement in those awkward few seconds afterwards were nowhere near enough to get him and Dr. Grey back on acceptable footing - at least in his mind. He recognises that she deserves a proper apology - something sincere and truthful. Not one that was propelled by his immediate shame and guilt.

Andrew can't say he's looking forward to it. He's more than aware that Dr. Grey's got a look capable of turning any person to stone, and Andrew's not sure he wants to be on the receiving end of it. Sure, she'd not been too harsh with him at the time, but they'd hardly had a minute to discuss it. And now that she's had a chance to sleep on it, she may have realised he doesn't deserve to be let off the hook.

But he has to do it. He's _got_ to. And as luck would have it, he's been assigned to her service today. He wishes the ground would swallow him up.

He finds her in the pit, and takes a moment to steady himself. She's dressed in blue again, this time a more familiar set of navy scrubs. But if anything, that makes Andrew feel more anxious than ever. It only reminds him that they aren't equals - that she could make or break him if she wants to. His palms feels sweaty, and he presses them gingerly against the fabric of his lab coat.

Her hair is up today, he notes, and then wishes he hadn't. It's an unimportant detail. It doesn't _matter_. But it's tied up in a ponytail, and coming loose in places around her face, and for some reason he's fixating on that. It's easier than thinking about what he's about to do, he supposes.

Taking a breath, he approaches warily. "Dr. Grey?"

She whirls around at the sound of his voice, hair whipping out behind her. She looks startled to see him, which is odd considering she must have known he was on her service today, right? Andrew takes a moment to observe her. Her eyes are bright, but nevertheless she looks tired. He wonders if she's had enough sleep, and then tries to pull his mind back from where that train of thought takes him. 

"DeLuca," she clips, her voice tight. It doesn't feel like a good sign.

"Dr. Grey," he says again, wishing he'd mapped out his thoughts a bit more clearly before starting. "I just wanted to apologise again for what happened... between us... at the wedding." Andrew feels like an idiot for spelling it out so precisely, but he also can't stop the uncontrollable urge to just fill the silence she's giving him. The lump in his throat grows bigger with every word, and with it, her eyes seem to grow bigger too. 

"Stop," she snaps after a beat, her palm rising up between them. The rest of his apology dies in his throat. "It's fine."

Andrew can't seem to match the expression on her face with her tone. Her words are short, but her eyes are round and full, and he can't quite put those two things together to get a read on her. 

"It's not fine," he replies. He sounds more assertive than he feels, but he's all too aware that for his own peace of mind he has to see this through to the bitter end. "I would never do that to you under... normal circumstances. But you were just very very kind to me," her expression softens a little, and he takes heart, "and I was drunk, and the dress was, I mean-"

Her face turns back into a frown, and Andrew realises he's gone off track again. God, he can't seem to hold his thoughts in check today. "Anyway, I just wanted to say I'm sorry. It never should have happened, and it never will... happen again."

Now that the words are out, a sigh of relief flows from him too. It's so audible that Andrew's sure she must have heard it. He waits for her to say something. _Anything_. But instead she just stares at him, her gaze fixed so intently on his face that it's like she's trying to memorise him. She doesn't _look_ mad, but she also doesn't seem to be on the verge of offering up forgiveness either. 

He can't help but study her in return. He so rarely gets the chance. There's no denying that he thinks she's attractive. He's be a liar if he tried. But he's always so conclusively put her in a box: a box where beautiful, brilliant and unobtainable women go who would never even give him a second glance, even if they weren't his boss and mentor and teacher. 

She licks her lips, and he tries not to stare at them. He fails.

"I'm going to go now," he says, in the end, unable to take the intensity of her stare for any longer. "I'll be... uh, working on your post ops. If you need me."

She's still looking at him like he's a ghost or more likely some sort of nightmare, an apparition set out to torture her. But she's not shouting at him, and he figures he'll take the win where he can get it. 

"I don't need you," she says finally, out of nowhere. Her tone is firm, decisive. He's not sure how she can possibly know that, given that their shift is hours long and who knows what the day will bring. But he takes it as a sign to escape while he can. Never has a mountain of paperwork seemed so appealing to him. He needs a distraction. 

\---

The last thing Meredith needed this morning was Andrew DeLuca appearing in front of her as if her dreams had somehow _summoned_ him to her presence. It's bad enough that she's a grown woman, having sex dreams about a resident. It's even worse that he felt he had to do the decent thing and apologise for kissing her. It's just a big neon reminder as to how he'd probably wormed his way into her dreams in the first place. She doesn't need a psychiatrist to make that connection.

He's polite and charming in his apology, she'll give him that - even though he rambles a little. His hands weave abstract shapes as he talks, a nervous tic, she supposes. But it's enough to make her lose focus, to remember the slide of those imaginary hands along her hips. God, she really hopes her thoughts aren't written all over her face.

Meredith definitely doesn't need or want him on her service today. On any other day, she would've been pleased. He's easily the most competent of all the residents, and usually she'd be fine with letting him lead and taking a step back. But today... today she needs to be as far away from him as humanly possible.

Her behaviour is probably sending him the wrong message, she knows. Actively avoiding him will only add fuel the fire that she feels just as awkward about the whole thing as he clearly does. But honestly, that couldn't be further from the truth. It wasn't her first drunken kiss - and his shamefaced apology at the time had been more than sufficient for her to have put the whole thing behind her.

It was everything that had happened since then that was the problem. Every time Meredith looks at him, she sees things she shouldn't. Her dream was not reality, but it had felt so vivid to her that it was proving hard for her to erase it completely. 

It'll be fine, Meredith thinks. After a few days, it will have all blown over, and things will go back to normal. But in the meanwhile, she'd rather not have to look at him - if only so her fingers didn't twitch at the memory of how her fingers had felt running through his hair. 

\---

"What about him?" Amelia asks.

Maggie glances up from her chart, and follows Amelia's gaze across the lobby. "Who? What?"

Amelia huffs in frustration. She knows she's the one driving this plan, but she at least expected a little more help. She seizes the chart out of Maggie's hands, if only to get her to focus. "That guy from radiology, coming down the stairs."

Maggie squints, and tilts her head. "Really, radiology?"

"Don't be such a snob," Amelia scolds her. "Didn't you go out with a guy from radiology for like... six months?"

There's a tic in Maggie's jaw, and Amelia knows she's hit the jackpot. It's a little too fun to tease her sometimes. "I'm _not_ a snob. I just think we can do better. Besides, Ethan and I just weren't compatible. Him being from radiology wasn't the problem."

"Oh sure, so you'd recommend interns then?" 

Maggie visibly ruffles, and Amelia doesn't even bother to hold back her grin.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding. But you need to _help_ me out here, Maggie. I'm lining up all these prime candidates for Meredith, and here you are just shooting them down, one by one."

Maggie sighs, and pointedly leans back against the reception desk and stares out across the lobby. Amelia can see her eyes flicker over the passing crowds. They're both quiet for a long moment, focused on their task.

Maggie eventually breaks the silence. "What about him?" She nods her head subtly over to her left. Amelia tracks her eye line.

"Uh, Maggie - you can't be serious?"

A frown appears across her sister's face. "Why not?" 

"DeLuca? Really? I mean, I'm not saying it is the worst idea but-"

"What? No! The guy behind DeLuca, you idiot. God!"

Amelia leans back so she can get a better look. DeLuca's hovering in the way, annoyingly blocking her view. His arms are full of paperwork and he has a slightly dazed look on his face. Probably hungover from yesterday, Amelia guesses. God, she doesn't miss _that_ feeling. 

Finally, she catches a glimpse of Maggie's candidate.

"Okay, Maggie. I think you're onto something."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot has followed the show closely-ish up until this point, but it will take a turn in future chapters - just FYI.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [KatieWho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatieWho/pseuds/KatieWho) for the beta.

"Oh, c'mon Mere. It'll take... half an hour?" 

Meredith draws in a deep breath and then exhales slowly, trying to exercise an inner patience that she doesn't quite feel today. She loves Amelia, truly she does. But Meredith's been running on fumes recently, and so her temper is a little shorter than usual. 

The truth is, she's not been sleeping well. There have been more _dreams_ \- specifically, dreams of an inappropriate nature that she's having an increasingly hard time explaining to herself. They haven't all been the same, but there is a glaring commonality between them that is starting to worry her. Because there's no good reason for a certain dark haired resident to be pervading her subconscious every night. It's unnecessary, and frankly, unwanted. So yes, she's annoyed. 

Her decision to hide in the lab today is her way of trying to reset things - to get some peace and quiet, to find some _calmness_. Because things can't continue like this. Andrew DeLuca has never been a problem before, and she would rather he wasn't one now. It's getting to the point where she can barely look at him without feeling the colour in her cheeks rising in shame. 

Looking over at her sister, Meredith gestures to the pile of research in front of her. "I don't have half an hour, Amelia. I'm busy." There are about five medical journals that she needs to read before she finishes up for the day, and that's not including the fact that she has to scrub in on a routine cholecystectomy later. 

"He just wants to talk to you about your paper," Maggie chimes in from where she's leaning against the whiteboard. She's biting on the edge of her thumbnail, usually a sign of nervousness, although Meredith can't quite read her today. She chalks that up to tiredness too - to the fact that she can't seem to close her eyes lately without a flash of toned skin and light blue scrubs taunting her.

"Everything I need to say about my paper was _in_ my paper," Meredith snaps impatiently, even though it isn't her sisters' fault. It's just that she's not here to walk someone through her published research when it's all down in black and white, as plain as day. She's got more important things to do.

"I already promised him," Amelia pleads. She at least has the good grace to sound a little guilty about it. "And you know, he'll buy you a coffee or lunch, and you won't make me look like a jerk for saying you were a nice person, and then proving me wrong. Plus, I had a brain tumour. I'm calling brain tumour."

Meredith's head jerks up, and she glares across at her sister with what she hopes is evident scorn. "You don't get to call brain tumour anymore, Amelia. That was forever ago. You're fine now."

Amelia smirks, and cocks her head. "Yeah, but I almost _wasn't_ fine, and wouldn't you have felt bad then? Please Mere, I never ask you for any favours."

The statement is so blatantly untrue and everyone in the room knows it. Amelia is the queen of favours. Meredith takes the opportunity to peer over the desk, and down at the floor, before sighing. "You're literally wearing my shoes. Right now." They're ones she's decided she hates, but Amelia doesn't need to know that.

"Are these really your shoes?" Amelia frowns with faux innocence, but it's slightly too earnest to be genuine. They both know her feet are a size smaller than Meredith's but that she insists on stealing her shoes anyway. "I thought they were mine?" 

"I think they're m- oh, just... never mind. Keep them. And tell this guy that I'll meet him for lunch tomorrow. He can ask his stupid questions, and you'll owe me."

"Fine - I'll owe you. But I'm also keeping the shoes," Amelia says as she turns and makes a hasty exit, perhaps sensing that Meredith may change her mind at any second. Maggie follows swiftly on her heels. 

It could be nothing, but something about this whole situation feels off, she thinks. 

But maybe it's just the lack of sleep. 

Stupid, inconvenient, inappropriate _dreams_.

\---

He almost stops in his tracks when he sees Meredith Grey in the hospital cafeteria. It's been time enough, and he thinks they're fine, but Andrew still can't shake this unsettled feeling from his bones. Something has changed, he knows, but he can't tell if it's good, bad, or something else entirely. 

She's been on his mind a lot lately. Meredith Grey, that is. A little too much than would be considered healthy, Andrew acknowledges. But he can't help it. He just _notices_ things now. When he looks at the surgical board, her name is the one that jumps out. When he enters a room, he somehow always finds his eyes searching for her first. 

He writes it off as something residual. Residual shame? Residual regret? He's not really sure. But it's there, and for the past week, it doesn't seem to have let up.

Right now, Dr. Grey is having lunch with someone - someone Andrew doesn't recognise. He must work at the hospital though, because he's also wearing a lab coat, but other than that, Andrew's got nothing. And so yes, he might be willing to admit that he's curious as to who the stranger with Dr. Grey is. It's not a crime in itself to be... interested.

Andrew joins the queue for coffee, but his gaze can't help but be drawn back over to her. She has her hair down today, long and sleek and falling over her shoulders. It reminds him of how she wore it at the wedding, and something about that memory causes his stomach to tighten involuntarily. It can only be guilt and shame, he assumes, even though he's apologised, and he thinks she accepted. But he feels he's still waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for the inevitable fall out that has not yet come.

Andrew accepts that he's comprehensively proven he's no expert on how to read Meredith Grey. If anything, these last few days has made him realise that she is effectively a complete riddle to him: simultaneously bewildering, fascinating but ultimately unsolvable. She's both reprimanded and shied away from him within the space of a week, and yet somehow her contradictory behaviour has left her more on his mind than ever.

Even now, Andrew tries from across the room to surreptitiously read the expression on her face. She's smiling, sure. But there's something off about it, something forced, he thinks. She's showing too many teeth, her shoulders are too tense. He can tell her smile doesn't reach her eyes. Overall, something just isn't right. Her body language is one of a woman who wants to be anywhere but where she is. A part of Andrew's clouded brain wonders if he should go over and interrupt, make up some excuse to ask her something. Because although he might be reading it all wrong - and he's made that mistake before - this time he doesn't think he is. 

But if he's honest, he's too wary after all that's happened. And it isn't his place to swoop in, when he knows that Dr. Grey is more than capable of taking care of herself. She doesn't need any man to play the hero for her. Besides, Andrew can't live his life paying off some imaginary debt to Meredith Grey - even though a part of him feels like he'll always owe her for being so gracious of his drunken mistake. So yes, maybe he _is_ in her debt, just a bit. 

So despite how much he wants to, he isn't going to be a hero here, even if there is something about the man she's with that sets his teeth on edge. He's just a bit too handsome, a bit too overly familiar with her, a bit too... hollow. 

Andrew knows he needs to stay in his lane, and get himself back on track. He's a senior resident, with a lot on his plate. He doesn't need to be thinking about Meredith Grey. At all.

\---

"I'm going to _kill_ both of you!" 

Meredith had vowed to be calm, collected and direct with her sisters. But after the world's most uncomfortable lunch, all good sense had flown out the window as she storms into the attending's lounge, looking for two very specific people to take her rage out on.

Maggie starts out of her seat, all wide-eyed and skittish. By contrast, Amelia seems far less perturbed at Meredith's outburst. "Why? What's wrong?" she drawls. She's sitting at the table, peeling apart an orange with surgical precision, eyes trained on her task.

If anything, Amelia's calmness makes Meredith more furious. "You set me up! You let me walk into that situation with the wrong information, and you... you set me up!"

Amelia finally puts the orange down and glances up. "I honestly don't know what you mean, Mere," she replies with a slight frown. "He said he wanted to pick your brain about your paper. What's the problem?" Amelia's eyes meet hers in challenge, and Meredith feels her blood boil. 

"Are you kidding me? Do you think I was born yesterday?" Her voice is getting more and more shrill, and she tries to temper it. But she's also trying desperately hard not to wag her finger at her sisters, like they are her children, and honestly, she only has the energy to control one thing at a time.

"I really don't know what you mean," Amelia stresses, palms laid open in front of her. Maggie glances between her and Meredith and back again, like she's watching a game of tennis, waiting to see who will break serve first. 

Meredith is trying really hard to stay calm, but her annoyance, coupled with her general irritability and lack of sleep are combining in some sort of perfect storm. "You both told me that all he wanted was to discuss my paper! But instead he didn't know anything _about_ my paper. Instead he just asked me a million questions about myself, like we were on a _date_. God, he asked me what I'm looking for in a relationship! And then he asked me to dinner on Friday night!"

"Ohh, that's good!" Maggie exclaims, suddenly perking up. Meredith shoots her a look that causes Maggie to physically recoil. 

"No, no, no," Meredith scolds, and yup, her finger is out and it's wagging at them both now. "You're _not_ listening."

"We're listening," Amelia insists, standing up out of her seat and shoving her hands in the pockets of her lab coat. She stands between Meredith and Maggie like some sort of human shield. "But whatever he said, that's not our fault. We knew nothing about him thinking it was a _date_." 

"Nothing at all," Maggie echoes more bravely, although still not budging from her spot behind Amelia.

Meredith narrows her eyes. Amelia is a decent liar, but Maggie's never been any good at it. And there's something about this entire situation that's sitting uneasily with her. Meredith has a feeling that Amelia and Maggie have orchestrated far more than they're admitting, but ultimately she doesn't have any proof. 

She takes a breath. "Whatever you two are up to, please stop. You do _not_ get to interfere with my life. It is not your place." Amelia's doing a passable job at looking outraged at the accusation, while Maggie just looks on like a deer caught in headlights. Meredith decides to reiterate herself for good measure. "I mean it. I don't care how nice you think he is. Don't set me up. With him. With anyone."

Amelia shrugs, before circling out from behind the table. "Well, to be fair, I don't really know him that well. Truly, Mere - he asked Maggie if you'd be willing to sit down with him to discuss your paper. We didn't know he had ulterior motives, I swear! But honestly... is it that bad? He's handsome, and successful - well, you know, for a guy who works in dermatology. But I mean, maybe he can give you some great skincare tips? Not that you need them, but hey, it can't hurt. Actually, do you think he could hook us up with-"

"Stop!" Meredith bellows suddenly, cutting Amelia mid-ramble. It's then and only then that Amelia's mouth snaps shut. "I'm _not_ going out with him." Honestly, it's ridiculous that she even has to spell this out. 

"Why not?" Maggie again, inching slightly closer but staying far enough away to be out of striking distance. "I mean, sure, maybe he wasn't upfront with you or us about his intentions. But maybe he just wanted to get to know you? And it could be fun? You said yourself you don't want to be alone."

"When did I-?" Her mind casts back, before locating the memory in question, recalling the context. She glares at Amelia again. Meredith can't deny that she said that, but there's a difference between saying something and actively deciding to do something about it. She's not there yet. She thought she'd made that clear. If not, she hopes she certainly has now.

She sighs. "Look, whatever went on, whatever you did or did not do, just please, don't do it again. Okay?" Meredith doesn't give them a chance to answer before storming out.

\---

"I told you it was a bad idea," Maggie hisses as Meredith exits the lounge, her remaining fury stalking out with her. 

Amelia looks contemplative. That's never good, Maggie thinks. "No, this is great," she says eventually, nodding her head. She grabs an orange segment off her plate, and takes a bite. "We can learn from our mistakes, and improve the plan."

Maggie feels like she's talking to a wall, rather than an actual neurosurgeon. Her ears are still ringing from Meredith's reprimand, but Amelia appears to be exercising selective deafness. "You're kidding, right? Did you not just hear her?"

"Yeah, but she doesn't know what she's saying, Maggie. I think we just went about it the wrong way. We need to make it seem more... natural. More, romantic comedy, like... a proper meet cute, you know? We need to warn the guy, finesse it a bit."

"Amelia!" Maggie huffs. "You've lost your mind! We're not playing with dolls, making them act out our stories. You can't manipulate two people together because you _will_ it, and because you tell them too. I was fine to let you try once, but we really have to stop now."

"Oh my god, Maggie. Stop being so dramatic! No one is manipulating anyone. We're just trying to open her mind to the possibilities. Let Meredith meet new people, get used to the idea. But... you're right, we may need to vet our candidates a bit more thoroughly next time. Up our standards. This one was pretty, but too dumb to follow our instructions to be _subtle_."

"I never said-" Maggie exhales in a flurry of exasperation. "Ameila, just... _no_." 

Amelia waves a hand at her noncommittally, pulling out her phone. "It'll be fine, Maggie. Trust me. Also, I know the perfect guy to ask next. One that will be sure to play along."

\---

Andrew's running late for a consult with Dr. Webber when he hears a raised voice, and then a few moments later, Dr. Grey marching out of the attending's lounge with a cross look on her face.

He hesitates for a moment. They've not been alone together over the past week, whether that's been by luck or by her design. Him looking at her across a hospital cafeteria is one thing, but now they're alone in this corridor, and they have no choice but to cross paths. Something akin to nervousness hits him. Andrew contemplates turning on his heel, but it's too late. There's no way he can without being obvious about it. So he keeps going, striding purposefully, trying not to stare.

As she gets closer, her sneakers squeak endearing against the floor, and he gets a better read of her. She's red in the face and distinctly flustered, wringing her hands in front of her as she walks. But she seems less mad now than she had a moment ago, perhaps closer to worry.

He plans to say nothing as they approach each other, but as they're about to cross over the words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. "Dr. Grey, are you okay?" 

She halts on the spot, her head snapping up at the sound of his voice, her eyes sharp before softening a little. Her shoulders straighten and she hovers in front of him. She seems uncertain, and it's not something he's seen from her very often - if ever. 

"I'm fine," she says after a moment, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. He follows her movements with his eyes. "Just, you know... sisters."

He instinctively grins. "Ahh, yes. I know that feeling," he agrees, with what he hopes sounds like good humour. He absolutely loves Carina, but she honestly infuriates the life out of him sometimes. 

Andrew doesn't expect her to say anything else. He figures she'll let the conversation end there and move on. But instead she nods her head with understanding, tilting her face upwards to his. Her cheeks are a deep rosy colour, and he's not sure what the colour reminds him of. She hesitates for a moment, before continuing. Her tone is low, almost confidential, like she's telling him a secret. "They tried to set me up... you know, on a date. They say they had nothing to do with it, but I'm not buying it. Do you think it's too much to ask for people to stay out of other people's business?"

"I, uh-" Andrew's not sure how to answer. And he's really not sure why she's suddenly confiding in him all of a sudden. Anyway, the question feels distinctly rhetorical - and yet she's staring at him as if she's awaiting an answer. He clearly takes too long because she continues anyway.

"Sorry, I don't mean you, Andrew." Meredith waves a hand dismissively. Her eyes meet his, and he's taken again by their brilliant green. The expression in them looks apologetic, which is new. "It... doesn't matter. You don't want to hear about this." The blush in her cheeks seems even more pronounced than before.

It strikes him that she's called him Andrew, instead of Dr. DeLuca for once. He can't even remember the last time she called him Andrew within the walls of the hospital - or at least, not ever in a way that he's noticed. She's usually so formal, so professional, and so it's unusual to hear her address him so casually, so openly. Not that he's bothered, of course. Andrew finds he quite likes it. 

"I don't mind," he says quickly, earnestly, because it's the truth. He _doesn't_ mind. The idea of her confiding in him actually thrills him a little, but he's not sure he wants to examine why. Can it be that he actually likes Meredith Grey? Does he want them to be... actual friends?

"That's kind, Dr. DeLuca," she smiles after a moment. Andrew notices that her smile reaches her eyes this time, although he notes her return to formality. She's so clearly putting him back in his place after her momentary slip. Her shoulders straighten, and she's suddenly Dr. Grey again. "And thank you for asking after me. I'm okay, but I better get going - got a consult in the pit." 

He nods, and she's quickly gone. Andrew finds himself watching her leave, a flurry of navy scrubs and blonde hair.


	4. Chapter 4

The body beneath his is different to how he remembers. Because even though she's gone, and he'll probably never see her again, he knows how Sam Bello should feel under his hands. He knows how she moves, how she breathes.

But this? This is different. Unfamiliar. And in the back of his mind he knows this isn't Sam, and yet his hands don't hesitate, even though a guilty part of him wants to, knows he should. They thread through lengths of hair, golden between his fingers, and it's then that he glimpses the face, the curve of her neck.

It's Meredith. Of course. 

He thinks he should stop. Probably because it's too soon for him to be doing this, after everything that's happened. He's not healed, he's still at a loss. He must be, because he's not the sort to behave this way, and as far as Andrew knows, neither is she. They should at least _talk_ , slow all of this down. 

And yet, he follows the path down the column of her neck, down and down, taking in the way her breath catches in her throat as he does. It takes no time at all before his tongue circles her nipple with deliberate carefulness. He hears a gasp, a moan, feels a hand slowly curling into his hair, tugging just the right amount so that he knows she's enjoying it. 

"Dr. DeLuca," she sighs into the air, voice low. The way she says it makes him forget all thoughts of Sam Bello. Hell, he practically forgets his own name. Her back arches underneath him, pressing her skin up closer against his own, heat against heat. Andrew's not sure why she's calling him that, but he's not going to complain as long as he's got her attention, as long as her focus is solely on him. 

He repeats the motion with the other nipple, with no design to rush, even though every part of his body is screaming out. He wants to please her so desperately, and a part of him wonders if that's because she's his teacher, his attending, his superior in every way. Meredith Grey is so far above him that he's still confused as to how this has happened. Everything feels muddled up in his mind, and it's not simply because she feels so impossibly soft against him, and is so responsive to his touch. 

"DeLuca," she murmurs again, more insistently this time. It sounds like a plea, like she's saying _don't-you-dare-stop_ , even though he had no plans to. As long as she says his name like that, he doesn't think he could ever stop. Instead he flicks her peak with the tip of his tongue, hands threading around her waist, and is rewarded with a sharp cry.

" _DeLuca_!" A harsh shove jolts him awake and he sees, well, not Meredith Grey. Definitely not Meredith Grey, but Bailey, standing over him.

He raises his head from where it's been face down in the pillow, the harsh light of the hospital corridor bearing down on him. It hurts his eyes. God, had he...?

"We need this gurney," Bailey's saying, as his brain tries to right itself. It was a dream. Of course it was. It could only have been, because there's no reality where that event could ever happen. No situation where she'd ever touch him like that, and certainly none whatsoever where he'd be allowed the same.

It was also completely and utterly and totally inappropriate. Andrew's stomach coils in familiar pattern of shame. 

"Sorry Chief," he says, voice gruff with sleep. He pushes himself up and lets his feet connect with the floor, taking a moment to steady himself. His legs feel distinctly not his own. He takes a quick glance of his watch. It's late. His shift finished hours ago.

Bailey stares at him with a strange expression. "If you need to sleep, DeLuca, find an on call room."

He nods contritely, trying to remember why he hadn't, but his brain is too fuzzy for the details. All it seems capable of recalling is the way the dream version of her had moved against him, the salty taste of her skin. It's proving very hard to forget. Her eagerness made him ache even now, despite Andrew being more than aware that this was all a cruel trick of his imagination. He reminds himself again that there is no way it would ever happen, even if he wanted it to. Which he doesn't. He thinks. 

Bailey gives him another glare before stalking off, gurney in tow. Andrew presses his hands down his face, trying to draw himself fully back to reality. 

Forget it, he thinks, as he ambles off down the corridor, with no particular destination in mind. He should probably get changed, go home, get into his own bed, and sleep properly. Dreamlessly, with any luck. Andrew's sure he's just overly tired. He's been working a lot and sleeping far too little lately. And most of the time he can cope with that, soldiering through with power naps and coffee, and sometimes just pure adrenaline. But he thinks he's hit the wall this past week - that must be the reason why his dream was so vivid, so out of character for him. 

Her sighs echo through his brain again, like his subconscious is determined to keep him reliving that which never happened in the first place. He knows he's been thinking about Dr. Grey a little more than he should have recently and so clearly this is his mind's way of punishing him. 

But he can't shake how it felt, the dream. This can't all be in response to a drunken mistake at a wedding. That seems too implausible. 

If Meredith Grey knew he was having... dreams about her, she definitely would have fired him, he thinks. Even Andrew can acknowledge the disgrace of it. It feels obscene to objectify her like that, even if he doesn't mean to. It doesn't help that he keeps running into her, can't quite seem to avoid her. It definitely doesn't help that when she looks at him, he feels more under her scrutiny than ever before. The problem is that he thinks he wants to be seen by her too.

But right now? Right now he needs sleep, and lots of it. But the effort of getting changed, getting home, feels too difficult, too exhausting. Even now his legs feel like dead weights. He's not sure he'd be able to keep his motorcycle upright for the journey.

Making a decision, Andrew slips inside the next on call room he comes across. It's dark and quiet and he feels a sort of peace settle over him. He won't get an uninterrupted eight hours, but at this rate he'll settle for half that. In the darkness, he scrambles to find the nearest bed before collapsing onto it. 

There's movement, a piercing shriek, a body next to his. He rocks backward in shock, somehow losing his balance, and falls heavily onto the hard floor. His shoulder connects painfully.

"Oh god," says the voice above him, and he knows before she even reaches for the lamp that it's her. She's the exact last person he wants to see right now. This situation would have been awkward enough given recent events, without the fact that he'd imagined her half naked in his dreams minutes earlier.

A dim corner light flicks on, casting an eerie shadow over the room. He's on his back on the floor, clutching his shoulder, and she's peering over the edge of the bed at him.

"Are you okay?" Meredith looks concerned. He stares up at her blankly, wondering if this is also part of his dream too, or maybe if he's having some sort of breakdown.

"Mered-Dr. Grey," he says after a minute, trying to catch his breath. The fall had knocked the wind out of him a bit, and her presence is hardly helping. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know you were in here. I thought it was empty. I hope you don't think th-"

She cuts him off, and he tries to ignore the way her hair falls like a curtain over her shoulder. "DeLuca! It's fine. I know you didn't mean to." Her tone is a little sharp, and he wonders if he's offended her somehow, but then she softens. "I was hiding in here from Amelia and Maggie, actually. If I see them, I think I might just strangle them both in rage. I must have drifted off. Is it late?"

He tries to move his arm to show her his watch, but winces a little with the movement. She notices.

"Your shoulder? Is it okay? Sit up," she instructs brusquely, finally getting into a sitting position herself and offering him her hand. He accepts it cautiously. They haven't touched since the wedding, and he's already struggling to push away the images his mind is trying to torture him with. He feels a bit sick about it, if he's honest. Meredith Grey is not some figment of his overzealous imagination. She doesn't deserve the role he's cast her in.

Andrew maneuvers himself into a sitting position on the floor, and moves his shoulder around in its socket. Nothing too serious, it'll probably just ache for a few days, he thinks. "It's fine," he assures her. "Just sore."

"Alright then," she nods. 

Quiet falls. Andrew senses he should get up and leave, but his body feels frozen to the spot. Dr. Grey sits quietly next to him, making no movement to leave either.

He can't stand it any longer. He has to say something. "So, avoiding your sisters, huh?"

She lets out a huff, like she was holding her breath. "Yeah. They're still on a mission to set me up with every eligible man in this hospital."

"Oh?" He hopes he sounds nonchalant about it, but he's not sure he does. And he's really glad that he can't really see her face right now, with his back leaning against the bed frame, and her above him. Nevertheless he can see her knee out of the corner of his eye, see the way her hand curls around it. He tries not to think about the way those imaginary fingers had weaved themselves into his hair. _God, this is not the time, Andrew._

"Yeah," she sighs, sounding exasperated. "Twice last week. Twice again this week. A guy in the queue at the coffee cart. The new ortho attending. It's not even very subtle."

Andrew hasn't met the new ortho attending, but he's certainly _heard_ about him. He has the entire nursing staff on high alert. Even Carina had mentioned him, although his sister always has had a eye for anything pretty. Right now, Andrew has so many questions he wants to ask: namely, what were Meredith Grey's answers to these men? But he settles for something decidedly less creepy. "Are you sure it's definitely your sisters?" After all, she's Meredith Grey - he has no doubt that there are many men who would want to date her, without any prompting from a third party.

Meredith laughs, and the sound travels down his spine. "Oh, one hundred percent. And every time I yell at them, they just deny it, but I know it's them. It can only be them."

"And you don't like any of their choices?" Andrew knows he is toeing a little too close to the line, but he finds he needs to know. He's also curious as to why Amelia and Maggie have seemingly disqualified him from this project of theirs, but he supposes that's probably for the best, given the circumstances.

"It's just, I'm not-" she starts, before stopping herself. It seems she can't finish the thought. "I'm- I'm... going to go. Home. To sleep there." She seems uncomfortable all of a sudden, and Andrew hopes he hasn't said anything he shouldn't have.

"Okay," he replies lamely, as she stands up and heads over to the door. He watches her pathetically from the floor, feeling less than macho, clutching his sore shoulder. Half this hospital has seen him with his face smashed in, including her, and yet somehow this feels more tragic. 

Meredith is half way out when she turns to him suddenly. "Sweet dreams, Dr. DeLuca," she says, with a scrunch of her nose and a kind smile. She closes the door quickly before he can reply.

_Sweet dreams?_

"That's the last thing I need," he mutters to the ceiling.

\---

Meredith is still thinking about it the next day. She doesn't want to be.

_Sweet dreams, Dr. DeLuca_? Honestly, Meredith. Get a grip. 

But there had been something about the way he'd been staring up at her that had just made the sentiment tumble out of her mouth. She'd regretted it moments later, because it felt like some sort of line had been crossed - that she had veered from merely friendly to overly playful, and she's already having enough trouble lately keeping Andrew DeLuca in the box that she needs him to be in.

He doesn't know that, of course. And if she has her way, he'll never know that. She's the one having trouble with her dreams - not him.

A low rumble starts her out of her reverie, the sound growing increasingly louder, until the cause is revealed.

A large motorcycle, and astride it, the source of her conflict.

"Is that DeLuca on that bike?" Amelia's asking, and Meredith rather wishes the ground would open up and swallow her. Because of course it's him - how could it not be? It's like he's haunting her, even though that clearly isn't the case. He's just as entitled to be here as she is. But since when _had_ he ridden a motorcycle? Or was it just one of those many things that she'd never bothered to learn about him? "Does he always look like that?"

Meredith wants to avert her eyes, unlike her sisters who are outright staring at this point. And despite herself and her better judgement, her eyes also cast themselves in his direction, tracing over the broad shoulders of his leather jacket and the way he tidies his hair back into place. He must know how good he looks, surely - how every female in the immediate vicinity seems to have stopped what they were doing and turned towards him. He glances up and spots the three of them, and it takes everything in Meredith's power not to duck out of sight. Instead she returns his gaze, notices his soft smile, and then the small wave that he sends in their direction. She notes how Maggie returns it, and is reminded of their history. Something uneasy settles in her stomach.

It's not that she wants to date DeLuca. She definitely doesn't. He just happens to torment her dreams in a way that makes her feel like she knows him far more than she actually does. Because that's the truth of it: Meredith likes him, but doesn't know him. He's a mystery to her. She may know what it feels like to imagine his hands tracing down the slope of her back, but she doesn't know how he takes his coffee or his favourite colour. 

Maybe she wants to know these things? No, that can't be it. She's been noticing him more lately, sure. She's even accepted his kind enquiries, noted his thoughtful nature. But that doesn't mean she's looking for more. Definitely not.

Meredith tries not to watch him walk away, but fails. There's something about the lope of his stride, the way his jeans fit perfectly, that makes her skin prickle. She knows she's objectifying him, and that's totally unfair. He's a good doctor and he'll be an excellent surgeon, and so he deserves more than her using him as fuel for her low burning fires.

Perhaps she just needs to... have sex again? After all, these yearnings don't seem to be going anywhere, and instead just appear to be releasing themselves as inappropriate dreams and inappropriate thoughts about her totally inappropriate co-workers.

But honestly, the thought of having sex again - actual, meaningful sex, with an actual meaningful person - terrifies her. Even with Riggs, it had been a battle to overcome the guilt, and she's sure it was only his dogged persistence that won out in the end, as much as she did like him. And ultimately, Meredith knows she needs more than what sex can give her, even if that wouldn't go amiss. 

If she's truthful, she'd been half tempted by Dr. Lincoln, the new orthopedic attending, when he'd sidled up to her in the pit and asked if she'd like to go out for a drink with him. He didn't know any one at Grey Sloan, he said, and he had seemed earnest enough. It was a good play, she admits, and even after those few minutes, she could see he had an ease and charm about him that sat well with her. 

But as things stood, she refused to give Amelia and Maggie the satisfaction of accepting any of the dates that they are clearly still puppeteering for her, of which there was no doubt that Dr. Lincoln was one.

It's kind of a surprise that they hadn't orchestrated DeLuca into asking her out yet, Meredith thinks. After all, he was attractive and objectively single - and that seemed to be the guiding criteria based on the approaches she'd had so far. But of course, he is probably still heartbroken over Sam Bello. It had taken a week to extract him from her couch after all, and his drunken speech at the wedding certainly hadn't indicated that he was over it, even if that felt like a distant memory right now. 

Besides, from what Meredith does know about him, he's not the sort to treat love as a game. She can't envision him falling prey to Maggie and Amelia's manipulations even if they had asked him to try and date her. Even if she was his type, which she couldn't possibly be. He's a resident at the start of his career, and she's a widow with three children - it doesn't leave a lot of room for any common ground. 

Meredith puts it out of her mind - because really, it's a moot point. They aren't dating and are never going to date. Sure, he's still a regular feature in her dreams, but she's trying not to read into that too much. He's nice to look at, and she's sex-deprived, so maybe her brain is just doing the most basic of mathematical equations in order to satisfy her needs. 

But she thinks back to that room, and the way he'd stared up at her from the floor, with an expression she couldn't really read. 

_Sweet dreams, Dr. DeLuca_ , indeed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm really sorry this chapter took so long. I was having a severe case of writer's block and this fic suffered the most because of that.
> 
> Thank you to those who asked me on tumblr when I'd be updating this - it was nice to know that people are reading and interested to find out more. Hopefully this will satisfy those who are still around!

Meredith feels under siege in her own hospital. 

Everywhere she turns she seems to run into yet another one of Amelia and Maggie's ploys to ease her out of spinsterhood. And if it's not that, it's Andrew DeLuca, who is somehow either steadfastly ignoring her or distracting her, with very little in between. 

Frankly, she's exhausted. And she's got enough on her plate today without fending off potential suitors. Surely at this rate, Maggie and Amelia will eventually have dredged the hospital dry if Meredith waits long enough. It's pathetic that this whole situation has become about who can be more stubborn. She's confident in herself on that score, but it is mostly her patience that is struggling to combat the constant influx of strange men who just happen to find some flimsy reason to stray into her path. 

Hardly a real problem, she thinks, in the scheme of things. Not when Zola's got a science project due, Bailey is struggling with his math, and Meredith's been paged to the pit just as she was on the verge of heading home for the day. It's just a consult, and hopefully it will be quick, but it's not the first time she's thought that and been wrong.

\---

Andrew sees her arrive out of the corner of his eye. He doesn't mean to, in fact, it's getting quite ridiculous, the way that she's spinning in and out of his orbit, and how he's always noticing. He's busy stitching up a rather nasty head lac and really, he needs to give it his full attention. If not, he knows Dr. Avery will just have him do it again if it isn't perfect. He doesn't need any distractions.

Not that Meredith Grey is necessary a distraction, he corrects. Because Andrew doesn't like her _like that_ , despite what his subconscious has been trying to tell him these past few weeks when he's asleep and his rational brain has taken a backseat. He admires her, and appreciates her, and yes, he finds her attractive, but he's also a resident who knows his place and just wants to get on with his life, rather than have it spiral out of his control over a woman. He's done enough of that recently. 

But after a few minutes he can't help but notice the way she comforts her patient, a young woman who looks terrified to be there surrounded by machines and doctors. There's an air of competence and safety about Dr. Grey's demeanour that would relax even the most nervous, he thinks. It's impressive, something to aspire to, to emulate. Perhaps Andrew just wants to _be_ Meredith Grey, rather than be with Meredith Grey. After all, who wouldn't want a career like hers, a reputation such as hers? 

But then she smiles, really _smiles_ , and his heart gives a thud that Andrew didn't anticipate. The smile's not even directed at him, and yet, his reaction is so visceral that it is hard for him to deny what it might mean. 

He likes her. Perhaps. Maybe a bit too much.

Not that any of that matters, of course. Because she'd made herself clear at the wedding - for the most part - and anything that has happened since has just been a ripple effect, a period of them re-calibrating to a new level of familiarity that neither of them expected. 

Thankfully, after a few minutes, she leaves and he sighs in relief, gets back to the job at hand. With attention and focus, his stitches are perfect, and so it's heartening when half an hour later Dr. Avery praises his work. It's nice to hear, even if Andrew's not really one for plastics. It lacks the drama and adrenaline of trauma or general surgery. But he also has high expectations of himself in all areas, and so, as he leans against the nurse's station completing the patient's chart, he can't help but feel pleased.

Suddenly there is a hand at his elbow, a rough grasp through the fabric of his lab coat.

"Dr. DeLuca, you paged?" He doesn't even need to look up to know that it's her. His heart seizes momentarily. Andrew's come to recognise her voice, its low melody easy for him to pick out even in a bustling and crowded room. But she's speaking a little loudly for the situation, and so he knows that when he glances up, he must look confused.

"No?" he responds, with a brief shake of his head. He's not sure why he sounds so uncertain, because he knows he definitely didn't page her. 

She scowls at him, and her eyes flick over his right shoulder, and then back to him. He frowns, tilts his head, not following. "Are you sure, Dr. DeLuca?" Each of her words are punctuated clearly, said pointedly. 

His mind is all over the place, her close proximity making him feel like he's walking a tightrope. He's clearly not quick enough on the uptake for her, because she takes a step even closer to him and her hand tightens its grip. He'd forgotten it was there and suddenly it is all he can think about. "Save me," she hisses, tone low, and her eyes repeat the motion from before, her stare returning to his and becoming increasingly direct. 

It's only then that the situation dawns on him, and he rearranges his expression quickly into one of understanding. Subtly, he twists his head carefully to one side, eyes searching behind him to see the cause of her disdain. There's a nurse, hovering, his own gaze fixed on Dr. Grey, in between pretending to check his watch. He's not unattractive, Andrew thinks, and tries not to examine why it matters, even though with each second, everything he's been denying is becoming clearer than ever. 

"Ahh," Andrew exclaims loudly as he turns back to face her. He's not a good liar, but he'll do his best. "Sorry, yes, Dr. Grey. I _did_ page you. It just slipped my mind. There's a problem in..." he searches for a location that would make sense, even though it doesn't really make sense that he'd page her here, only to take her to another location in the hospital entirely, "... in your lab, and Dr. Bailey asked me to help you sort it out. I just couldn't remember where it was, so I thought I'd page you here. I hope that's okay." 

Andrew knows perfectly well where Meredith Grey's lab is. But it's the best he can do on the spot, given the circumstances. He hopes he doesn't look like a floundering idiot, but as he registers the expression on her face, he can see gratefulness blossoming there, and doesn't feel quite so hopeless.

"That's fine, Dr. DeLuca," she replies, her eyes smiling even though her face isn't. Andrew notes the feeling of warmth that spreads through him and determinedly presses it down. "Shall we go now?"

He's meant to be covering the pit, but he senses the plea in her tone, even though it's well hidden. She needs the safety of his presence to ward off what seems to be yet another admirer, apparently. Clearly Maggie and Amelia have been at it again, and even the nursing staff aren't exempt from their attempts to match-make for their sister. Andrew's not sure when he became Meredith Grey's human barricade, but it's probably one of the more appealing things he's been tasked with for quite a while.

"Yes," he answers, returning the tablet to the docking station, "I'm free now." Dr. Hunt will just have to forgive his absence for a little while.

He trails out after her, a few steps behind. He can't help but note that the nurse is still watching Dr. Grey's retreating back, although Andrew is relieved to see that they aren't followed. Crisis averted, it seems. For now, at least.

By the time they're out in the corridor, Andrew realises that he really has no reason to follow her any further now that the immediate problem is resolved. He's trying to figure out how to address this when she slows down and falls into pace with him, so that they're now walking shoulder to shoulder. He can't help but glance down at her, out of the corner of his eye. 

Oh god, he _does_ like her, he thinks, as his throat dries up and his heart feels like it is beating out of rhythm. This is _terrible_. He's so hyper-aware of their proximity that every movement she makes seems to be in slow motion, like a scene from a film. No, no, no. This _can't_ be happening. Andrew resolutely shoves his fists in his lab coat pockets, so their hands don't accidentally brush. That's the last thing he needs right now.

She smiles up at him. "Thank you," she says, as they amble towards some unknown destination. There's such gratitude in her voice that warmth blooms in his chest. "I just can't face another one today. He's been trying to chat to me all afternoon."

"It's no problem," Andrew answers, without asking her to elaborate. There are just some details that he doesn't want to hear. Besides, he guesses that his appeal to Dr. Grey, the reason she approached him for help rather than someone else, is the fact that she doesn't have to explain her dilemma in more detail. "Happy to help."

She scoffs, although it is friendly in nature. "Well, I didn't really give you a choice, and I'm sure you're busy. Besides, it's not really fair of me to ask you to rescue me every time this happens."

"It's honestly fine," he assures her, and he knows he sounds far too earnest, too eager, but can't help himself. All he wants to do is to be cool about this, and yet right now, he's sounding like a schoolboy with a crush. A crush that he really needs to get under control.

She pauses mid-step and he pulls up quickly beside her, trying not to stumble over his feet. She has to crane her face to look up to him, and the long slope of her neck is arched just so. He swallows heavily. There's a pause before she speaks, along with a subtle shift in her voice that he's not heard before. "Andrew," she says, and he notes the change in how she's addressing him too, "the funny thing about all of this is that I... well, I'm actually-"

"Mere!" A loud shout booms out, and suddenly Alex Karev is upon them at such speed that it’s unclear as to where he came from. He looks frustrated, staring at Meredith so intently that Andrew may as well be invisible. "I need you" he demands, his tone offering no apology for the fact that he's clearly interrupting them. It's quite obvious he doesn't care.

Andrew's aware that he's not really in a position to protest either - either personally or professionally. And as much as he wants to know what she was about to say, it's clear the moment is gone as fast as it had arrived. Meredith's focus has slipped away, her attention now entirely centred on Alex. "What's the matter?"

Andrew doesn't even have a chance to say goodbye before Alex is steering her away. He watches them stride off down the corridor, matching coloured scrubs and in sync as only those who have known each other a long time can be. But Andrew can't help but wonder what she was going to tell him before they were interrupted. He replays the way her voice had dropped, almost conspiratorially, like she was going to confide something. It may have been nothing, just a passing comment, but Andrew has a feeling it wasn't simply that. 

Maybe he'll have another chance to ask. Or maybe (and he hopes this isn't the case) he'll never know. But he’s quite aware by now that wondering will keep him preoccupied for more time than he would like. 

He's really got to figure out a way to get this whole thing out of his system - before he embarrasses himself any further.

\----

"Tom Koracick?!" The name echoes down the corridor outside the x-ray room, easily carrying with it her displeasure. 

Andrew looks quickly up from Dr. Pierce's post ops. He can't see Meredith yet, can only hear her impending footsteps, but it is enough for his body to go rigid, like it is armouring itself for her arrival. Across the other side of the room, Dr. Shepherd and Dr. Pierce look up too, surprise etched across their faces. But before they can say another word, the door is pushed open with such force that Andrew thinks the glass in the frame may shatter.

"Tom Koracick?!" For someone so small, Meredith Grey has mastered fury like no other, and he's immediately aware that he should really be anywhere other than where he is right now. It's obvious that this doesn't involve him. Andrew wonders if he can make a swift exit, but realises that there is a very angry woman between him and the door, and so instead opts to stay as quiet and still as possible. 

"Mere, what are y-" Amelia starts, before Meredith waves a hand at her with such authority, that the rest of the sentence is lost. 

"Don't, Amelia. Don't. I've told you both time and time again, that _I'm not interested_ in whatever you are doing. I don't care if you're trying to help me or not, because I'm sick of it! Do you hear me?" Meredith is practically quivering with rage, her fists balled at her side. Andrew feels like he should avert his eyes - but there is something mesmerising about her in this moment, all golden hair and rage. God, what is wrong with him?

"But this? _This_ is a new low!" Meredith storms further into the room and slams her hand down on the desk. "Tom Koracick, are you kidding me?"

Maggie's mouth gapes open like a fish. "I don't under-"

"Have you any idea of what it is like to be hit on by Tom Koracick?" Venom curls around the name, and Andrew feels a similar distaste curl in his own stomach at the thought.

Amelia chuckles "Well, actually-"

But Meredith doesn't seem interested in what she's about to say, and powers on. "Look, I've put up with it, because I figured the two of you would get _bored_ eventually. I can handle the nurses, the guy from the lab, the man who makes my _coffee_ , but Tom Koracick?! Do you really think that I-? Anyway, I'm done. You are both done! Got it?"

"But we-" 

"Done!"

"Seriously Meredith, we had nothing to do with _Tom_ , I promise you," Amelia protests, leaping out of her chair. There's something about the way she says it that makes Andrew think that she's actually being honest. After all, Tom Koracick is a wildcard in every sense of the word, and it's not a stretch to imagine that whatever he'd said to Meredith had been done of his own volition. "I w-, we would never-"

"Stop. I don't believe you. You've been saying that all of this has had nothing to do with you, and we all know that's not true." Meredith's eyes suddenly meet Andrew's across the room, and he realises that she's only just registered his presence, tucked away in the corner. Her demeanour seems to settle a fraction, just enough for him to think that she hadn't intended for him to see her like this, to hear all of this. Nevertheless the frown between her eyes doesn't dissipate as her attention turns back to her sisters. "I just need you to stop, okay?"

Amelia's eyes narrow, and Andrew realises this is now a battle of wills, rather than any sort of hope that the truth will come out. "Meredith, is it so hard to believe that men want to date you, that you have options? That you don't have to be alone? That Derek wouldn't wan-"

"Enough!" The word cuts through the air, as cold as ice. Andrew feels like the oxygen has been sucked out of the room and sees Meredith take a shaky breath. "Enough, please."

Amelia's mouth opens. "But-" 

Whatever she was about to say dies mid air as Meredith spins away and heads towards the door. Andrew's still not sure who has won this fight. Maggie looks like she's just witnessed a bomb going off, but he can see that Dr. Shepherd isn't quite ready to let this go. 

"Besides," Meredith adds as she gets to the doorway, her ponytail flicking over her shoulder as she glances back to take in the room, purposefully avoiding looking at him this time, "I'm already seeing someone."

With that, she vanishes, and the silence engulfs them.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [KatieWho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatieWho/pseuds/KatieWho) for the beta.

Andrew jars himself awake, another dream on the tip of his subconscious. He can't remember the details this time - which is probably more of a blessing than anything, he thinks. He doesn't need the vivid reminder of where his mind wanders to when he's asleep. The sense of it is enough: a flash of blonde hair, long limbs, green eyes. The rest of the blanks he can fill in without any difficulty.

As his heart rate settles, he turns his head to stare at the wall of his apartment. The sun is filtering through the flimsy curtains which he hasn't gotten around to replacing yet. He's only lived here a month and it still doesn't quite feel like home - not in the same way that Grey Sloan does, which is as sad as it is troubling. 

What's also troubling is that he hasn't seen Meredith in three days. Not that he's counting, not that it _matters_ , even though he's definitely lying to himself when he says that. Three days is a long time when he spends almost sixteen hours of each day within the walls of the hospital, and he knows that she's working too. Is she avoiding him? 

He groans and rolls over onto his back. The blankets are twisted around his limbs so he throws them off, before he gets cold and tugs them up again. _Get a grip, DeLuca_ , he thinks. He would like, just for once, to be rational about this. _Why would she be avoiding you? You're irrelevant here._

That said, he wishes he could stop thinking about it - what had happened in that room, what she had said. But her confession keeps echoing through his mind like a cruel taunt. Andrew's approached the situation from every angle, every side, in order to try and get to the heart of it. And yet the take away always is that Meredith Grey was seeing someone, and he was eaten up with... what? Curiosity? Jealousy? Disappointment? At times it feels like all three.

Whatever it is, he's realistic enough to accept that knowing _who_ she's dating wouldn't really make a difference to how he's feeling. At the end of the day, it's not him, and that's the sad joke of it all. While he was wringing his hands, figuring it all out, she'd moved on. And even then, that's not really right. They were never anything for her to move on from. 

At this point, all Andrew can do is accept the facts as they are, and work out how to move past it. 

He sighs loudly into the empty space around him, blinking against the heaviness of his eyelids. He's had six hours sleep, but it never feels like enough. Unhung picture frames are propped up against the wall beside him and he's not sure when he'll ever find the time to hang them. It's not like he has anyone to invite over anyway, only Carina, and her swipes at him don't usually extend to home decorating. 

When did his life get so small, so limited? He supposes it's when Sam left and it had seemed like everything certain in his world had been pulled out from underneath him. At the time it had thrown him for a loop, had set him thoroughly and pathetically adrift.

As he lies there, it dawns on him that for the first time in a long time, the memory of Sam doesn't crush him in the way it might have even a few short weeks ago. If anything, he feels like the grief has settled, evened out, and he's almost come to accept the way that it ended. Andrew might even accept, in a roundabout way, that it was probably for the best in the long run. The romantic in him wants to think that maybe it could have worked out. But although there's no way of knowing that now, the uncertainty doesn't weigh on him like it did. It actually feels... freeing.

Andrew hopes that Meredith Grey isn't the reason for that. He's always hated the adage of the best way of getting over someone is to get under someone else. Besides, it's not like that's even the case here - he's definitely not under Meredith Grey, not even close - except maybe in his traitorous dreams. 

Her words of advice at the wedding echo in his mind anyway. _You're going to fall in love again. And you're going to get your heart broken again._

Andrew might not be _in love_ with Meredith, but he recognises the signs that show he's not exactly been stopping himself from travelling down that path either. It hadn't been intentional, but these things never were, he supposes. And she had warned him - love and heartbreak go hand in hand, and so this was just part of the package. He has to take the good with the bad, even though, in their case, the good had barely had a chance to thrive. 

He tries to accept that as a good thing - that he’s not had time to fall too deeply into this mess. After all, by the time he’d realised what he was feeling, the brakes had already been hit. It puts things in perspective - a reminder that with dedication and time, he’ll be able to claw his way back out again without any permanent scars.

And ultimately, this was his problem to deal with. He has no blame to assign, except to himself. She's seeing someone else, and he's... happy for her, deep down, buried underneath the rawness of the news that he'll need to accept and move on. Andrew's a grown up. He's been disappointed in love before. He can work through an unrequited crush and still do his job. He can admire her and her talent, and be grateful for what he gets and request nothing more; he's confident of that. 

He's got a life to live, and a career to grow - and that needs to be his focus. But even as Andrew steps into the shower and lets the hot water wash over him, he can't ignore the flare of his primal brain, taunting him once more with bare skin, sharp eyes, parted lips.

So much for his resolve.

\---

He's resigned himself to her absence, nine hours into his shift. After all, if he's going to get past this, surely not seeing her is the ideal remedy? It's not like he hasn't got other things to focus on, other ways he can channel his energies. 

The situation is, of course, short lived. No sooner had he thought it, he sees her emerging from the attending's lounge. She's clearly on her way home - dressed down, handbag over her shoulder, a coat draped over one arm. She's staring at her phone with a scowl and even that small motion piques Andrew's curiosity far more than he knows it should.

He regrets choosing this corridor. He'd only gone this way, risked passing a place where he knew she might be, because he was hurrying to get the coffee cart outside before it finished up for the day. 

He feels a sense of deja vu. After all, why are they always crossing paths in empty corridors? Are they stuck in some sort of loop where they have to meet time and time again until something changes? Andrew shakes his head. He's tired and not thinking straight. Surely the easiest solution would be to just avoid her - after all, distance _might_ make all of this easier on his wounded heart. Avoidance, as cowardly as it is, will give him some time to slide back into professional detachment and find his feet again. 

He contemplates for too long, because it's too late, she's seen him, and he can't do anything but face her now. He tries not to focus too much on the details of Meredith Grey: slim fit jeans and the way the apples of her cheeks are flushed from what he assumes must be from the stuffy air in this part of the building. She looks neither pleased or displeased to see him, and it's that neutrality that reminds him that, for his own sake, he should take a page out of her book.

"Hi," he says as she approaches. After all, he doesn't want to be rude. It's definitely not because he becomes the stupidest version of himself when he's faced with her. Besides, it's not like he can ignore her and say nothing. Andrew is excellent at convincing himself that being polite to her isn't going to send him down a slippery slope towards being half in love with her all over again. 

"Hi," she echoes, shifting her eyes towards her phone screen momentarily before her focus is back on him. With his height advantage, Andrew can see the familiar bubbles of a text trail on her screen but can't see who it's with. It's not that he even means to be nosy, but just because he's trying to be nonchalant about this whole thing, it doesn't mean there aren't questions still gnawing away inside of him. 

Meredith taps out some quick response, before sliding her phone into the back pocket. Suddenly he's got the full force of her attention and he's not sure whether that's his cue to speak.

"DeLuca," she says, after a moment, and he tries not to squirm under the directness of her gaze, "I should apologise for my... tantrum the other day." She smiles wryly at her choice of words, although it slowly twists more into a grimace. "You shouldn't have seen me like that. It was... unprofessional."

He's surprised. Andrew hadn't expected an apology from her. She's the attending who leaves interns quivering in their shoes, who never apologises to any other surgeon if she can help it. Why she's offering one to him is something Andrew can't quite figure out. Just when he thinks he understands her, she slips away from him again. Anyway, it's not like he gives two damns as to whether her outburst had been unprofessional or not. He'd been too consumed by the information disclosed rather than how it had been delivered. 

He licks his suddenly dry lips. "You don't need to apologise," he assures her, trying to erase the frown that he's sure has slid onto his forehead. He tucks his hands into his lab coat to quash the nervous energy that's rising inside of him. He picks his next words carefully, a calculated attempt at light-heartedness. "It was... entertaining."

There's a heart stopping beat before she returns his grin, and the tension in his shoulders uncoils just a bit. "Still," she continues, fiddling with one of the buttons of her coat, still hanging from her arm, "it was embarrassing. I shouldn't have lost my cool like that. At work." Her manner is contrite, almost vulnerable, and Andrew gets a sense of what it must have cost her to admit. He doesn't want her to feel beholden to him for any sort of forgiveness.

"It's fine," he says, brushing it off with a shrug. If he doesn't feel calm, he can certainly play act it and hope that it sticks. There's no way she could know that how she'd behaved was the very last thing he had taken away from that whole encounter. 

"Okay then," she responds, and something about her face relaxes a touch. "Great." There's an awkward pause and he can tell she's about to walk away when something rises up within him, and it's out of his mouth before he can stop it.

"Congratulations, by the way," he says. He's pleased with how it comes out: casual, like an afterthought - like it's not the gateway to the thing that's been consuming him for the past few days. 

A frown crosses her features, and she tilts her head to one side at him. "Congratulations? For what? Yelling at my sisters?" Her tone is good-natured despite her confusion.

"Uh, no," he stammers, tongue feeling thick in his mouth. But he's come this far, despite his better judgement. "You know, that you're seeing someone." Andrew suddenly feels very exposed, like he's overstepped whatever invisible boundaries she's drawn between them. He's going in blind, and he's never felt it more than in this moment. "Sorry, that was probably inappropriate for me to say."

"Probably," she quickly agrees, and her response leaves him none the wiser. There's a flash of something in her eyes, but he can't tell if it is bemusement or if she's laying down a challenge. After a moment it's gone and her expression softens again. "But I feel like we're past that by now."

He feels relieved. "Maybe," he chuckles, although it's half exhale, thick with overcompensation. That said, he likes the feeling of the shared joke - it's like he's unlocked some secret part of her that no one else has, even though he knows that can't possibly be true. Standing here with her is the opposite of the cure he was looking for. Nevertheless, he continues. "Well, I suppose it will get your sisters off your back." He offers up a smile, even though the muscles in his jaw hurt from where he's clenching his teeth.

Meredith's eyes flick down and away from his, and he wonders if he's said something he shouldn't. He didn't mean it as any offence to Maggie and Amelia, obviously - and he hopes she hasn't taken it that way. He's about to backtrack until she looks up at him again, and there's something unreadable in her face.

"Well, it seems I've just swapped one problem for another," she says, her tone flat and resigned. "Now they want all the details, want to meet him, the whole thing. I thought... I thought telling them would... I don't know, give me some peace. But apparently not."

"Ah," he responds, because he's not sure what else to say. Hearing the details a second time doesn't decrease the impact of the news in the way that he thought it might. It still feels like someone has punched him in the stomach. But he bears all responsibility for that. After all, this situation could have been reined in weeks ago, but instead he'd allowed his mind to explore the idea, allowed it purchase in his brain to the point where he'd talked himself into something that inevitably would just hurt him.

"Yeah," she sighs, shoulders sagging with the effort. She sounds frustrated and on edge.

"Well, it's only because they care," he adds eventually, in the hope that it might placate her. He's trying very hard not to pry, even though he's also getting a sense that maybe Meredith wants to offload. Andrew's not sure he's the right person for that anymore, even if the curiosity is killing him. He's also not sure he has the strength to _not_ be that person if that's the role she wants him to play. At this point, he's begging for scraps, and it's probably the most pathetic he's ever felt.

"I know they do," Meredith agrees, with a half-hearted eye roll. "I even get _why_ they do. But it's... a lot. All the time. I'm not used to the amount that they care sometimes. They are _aggressively_ caring." She offers a small smile, enough to show that she's mostly joking.

Andrew is amused at her choice of words. It seems unfathomable to him that people _wouldn't_ care about Meredith after all she's been through. But he also understands that she's become used to operating alone and independently of others. He doesn't need to know every corner of her story to know how she sweeps through the hospital like nothing can touch her. That's why her outburst at her sisters the other day had seemed so out of the ordinary for more reasons than one. 

"Well, I'm sure they mean well." He's attempting reassuring, but all he's got are cliches. And if anything, Meredith looks less at ease than before. He tries again. "They just want to know that you're with someone who'll treat you right, I guess." He swallows down the large lump that seems to have settled in his throat. He sounds too serious, too sappy, and already he wishes he could take it back. She's still his boss, for god's sake.

Meredith rocks back on her heels before settling flat-footed again. She looks uncomfortable, standing there biting her lip. Andrew immediately worries that she's clocked on to what he's _not_ saying, before realising that she seems distracted. He releases a quiet huff of relief.

"I'm sure they do," she echoes softly after a moment, indicating that she has heard him. But she's clearly still in her own head, and Andrew's not sure where that leaves him. After letting her stare into space for a longer silence than he can bear, Andrew can't leave it anymore.

"Meredith, are you okay?" It's a simple question, but he doubts every element of it. Should he even be asking it in the first place? Is it okay to call her Meredith in this context? He can't quite seem to switch back and forth with the ease that she does - using his name to draw forever moving lines between them: professional and otherwise. 

She stares up at him, face open and eyes wide. Her lashes are impossibly long, and that smallest of things makes his blood run red hot. She looks surprised that he's asking. "I'm fine," she says with brusque assertiveness, and it's like he can _see_ her autopilot kicking in; that Meredith Grey defence system that Andrew is learning is made of steel or probably something else even stronger. "It's nothing." 

"It's clearly something," he answers calmly. He doesn't want to force her hand, but he also knows what it looks like when someone wants to talk. With Meredith it seems more like she's fighting the urge every step of the way. 

"It's... it's fine," she repeats again, teeth pressing hard on her bottom lip. Andrew can tell she's wavering.

He's not sure what to say without pushing her too far. So he offers up an opening. "I'm sure Maggie and Amelia will understand that you just want some time to... uh," he feels awkward now "-settle into things," he finishes vaguely, trying to fight the blush that he knows is probably rising on his cheeks. He definitely doesn't want to name the specifics of what she may or may not be doing in this mystery relationship of hers. 

Her jaw sets as she locks eyes with him. "That's not it," she replies. Each word is curbed, and although she sounds sharp, it's clear that her unhappiness is not with him, but rather with whatever is bothering her.

He keeps his response intentionally short. "It's not?" He’s leaving the door open enough for her to either walk through or slam in his face. He won't judge her either way.

Andrew can feel her reading his expression, checking his sincerity, before accepting it to be genuine. Her mouth opens and shuts a few times, like she can't quite bring herself to say what is coming. He's hanging on her every movement at this point: watching the way her hands clutch at her fingers, before reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ears. She looks away, at the wall, at her feet, before glancing back to see him still observing her. 

"I lied, okay?" The words are crushed together, released in a flurry, like she doesn't want to admit to them.

He's taken aback, puzzled. "I'm sorry, what?" It's the best he can come up with, and it feels inadequate. 

"I lied!" Her hands throw themselves up in frustration, shaking the air around them. Her agitation has gone from low lying to epic proportions within the space of moments. He's severely on the back foot here.

As a result, he's tentative with his next question. He certainly doesn't want to rock the boat anymore than he has. He also doesn’t want to get his hopes up by jumping the gun prematurely. "Lied about what?" Andrew doesn't like the way it sounds on his tongue but he's trying to remain calm. This whole situation feels like he's dreamt it. The only way he's clear that it's cold hard reality is because, in his experience, his dreams have involved them both in a lot less clothing, and even as he thinks it, he can feel his face flushing red with embarrassment. Thankfully, she seems too riled up to notice.

"You want the whole truth?" she asks finally, with a hint of bitterness around her mouth. She's standing a touch too close to him, like she's forgotten the normal boundaries that usually apply when it comes to personal space. Maybe she considers that to be okay for them now - the way her feet are almost touching his - but Andrew's brain is still trying to catch up with the fact that they've crossed over into some place he didn't realise they'd reached. Sure, kissing her while drunk is one thing, but he's still not used to close proximity in hospital corridors where anyone can see them. 

As for the truth she's offering, he senses a double edged sword. He both wants to know it, and not know it - a bit like Schrodinger's cat, except this is his heart, and it's had enough ups and downs to take one more. Whatever her confession is, he can't lie - he's desperate to know, and yet there is nothing he wants to know less. 

Of course, he can't tell her that. It feels too late to say now that she can keep her truth, because he doesn't want to hear it. Andrew senses that any sort of rebuff like that wouldn't go down well with a woman like Meredith Grey in the state that she's in. She's offering her confession to him, and if he turns it down now, he won't get such an opportunity ever again. It would almost be as bad as admitting to her face that she's had his mind tangled up for weeks now, and he's been too stupid to see it. She'd laugh him out of Seattle.

Nevertheless, he has to say something.

"Meredith," he says and there is still something so unfamiliar about the way her name feels on his tongue, no matter how many times he does it. "If you want to tell me, I'm happy to listen. But if you're not comfortable..." he trails off hopelessly. He's too weak to explain how torn he feels about it all, so instead aims for casual diplomacy. He's ended up as a mix of removed but supportive. 

She sighs with exasperation, like his neutrality is exhausting to her. It's unexpected in the circumstances. "I was lying, Andrew. Obviously. About seeing someone."

"Huh?" His monosyllabic response echoes dumbly against the walls. He's glad there are no witnesses to his stupor, because he's sure he must look like a slack-jawed idiot. But it’s not that he doesn’t understand. Andrew understands what she’s saying with alarming clarity. He just needs a minute to compute what it _means_.

Meredith stares impatiently at him, as if his apparent slowness to catch on is a personal affront. She clicks her tongue. "Yes, I know," she says, continuing the conversation even in the midst of his mute confusion. "It was... rash. But I just... needed it, my sisters, to stop. I _need_ it to stop."

He nods slowly, letting the truth sink into his bones. Every atom in his body feels like it’s alive. "So... you're not dating anyone then?" The second the words are out of his mouth, he regrets them. The desperation of his question rings through the air, hovering between them like a storm cloud. 

For the first time during this interaction, she looks at him suspiciously, like she senses something underlying in his tone that he's been trying to keep smothered down. "No. No, I'm not. I just... made it up. And I've been thinking, maybe..." she stares directly at him, and his heart soars a moment before sinking, "... that I could just ask Dr. Lincoln to go have a drink with me, and see how it goes. I don't know. It's better than admitting to them that I _lied_."

Andrew's chest feels tight. He was second in his class and yet this leaves him dumbstruck. He needs this to not spiral out of control. "Dr Lincoln?" There’s the barest attempt to not let the words strangle themselves on their way out of his mouth. He's pretty sure his palms are sweating. 

"Yeah," Meredith responds with a frown. She contemplates some fixed point over his shoulder, and it gives Andrew a moment to collect himself, organise his mind, and arrange his face into something that doesn't give up every secret thought he's ever had about her. "He asked me out for drinks a while ago - when he first arrived. I said no, because I was sure Maggie and Amelia had set it up. But I think maybe I was wrong about that. I don't know."

"He seems nice," Andrew replies blindly, because he hasn’t had enough time to think about his options here, and he needs to say something. Does he have options here? Is he brave enough to explore them? If he doesn’t decide soon, the decision will be made for him. Because “he seems nice”? _Honestly, Andrew. Whose side are you on?_

"Yeah," she says again. "He does." Her response dangles in the air, settling heavily over them. Andrew's pretty sure he's not giving her the contribution that she was looking for - even though he's not the one who pulled them down this rabbit hole to start with - at least, not on this occasion. Really, if he wants to be particular, he is to blame for this new found _whatever_ between them. He kissed her, and it's all spun out from there, the circles casting wider and wider until now she's telling him about asking out another man, and he’s become frozen on the spot. The thought of sitting idly by and letting that happen feels abhorrent to him. But what choice does he have?

Well, one other choice. 

"I..." he starts, drawing in as much oxygen as he can before he changes his mind. "I have another idea."


End file.
